


After the War

by SoraMoto



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cold War, Fluff, M/M, Sunflowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoraMoto/pseuds/SoraMoto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Cold War has ended and Alfred reaches out to an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the War

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this idea popped in my head and I couldn't not write it out.

America looked down at the flowers in his arms. They were sunflowers. As big a bunch as he could carry, which was quite a bit. Most might wonder what He was doing walking the streets of Moscow with an armload of sunflowers but he knew what he was doing with them. He found himself starting up the long drive leading to a large, if slightly rundown house. The Soviet Union had just collapsed and America was making a visit to his former enemy in hopes of making amends. His people, his government may still not trust the Russians and all that they are but that was cause they had forgotten. They had gotten too used to the idea of good versus evil. America, no Alfred, never hated Ivan or his people. He had only ever hated his government and in that hate, backed by his people's fear he had done and said some horrible things to the former Soviet Union. He remembered that Ivan had been there for him when he had won his war against England and gained his independence. Ivan understood how hard it was for the young nation and had been a shoulder to cry on. When the Civil war had torn him apart it was the Russian that helped to hold him together while the rest of the world watched and waited to see how things would turn out.

And when Alfred had heard about the revolution in Russia near the turn of the century and the slaughter of the Romanovs he had gone to Ivan's side as quickly as he could. He realized when he got there he had been to late to help the best friend he had when he found him bloodied and beaten, not by the hands of another nation but by his own government. Alfred couldn't help but to grow angry at the memory of the Bolshevik's torture of the larger nation.

America finally made it to the front door of the house and was stumped for a moment on how to knock with his hands full. It only takes him a moment to figure he can just use his foot and, as gently as he can, knocks with his foot. He cringes a bit when he realizes he may have been a bit too rough while knocking but hopes the Russian won't be mad, not like he kicked the door open at least and that dent may have been there before. After standing there for a few minutes the door slowly creaks open and America sees the Russian peaking through the crack. He shoots him a winning smile. When both stand there in silence for a good five minutes America clears his throat.

"Hey Russia." The smile is still on his face but seems a bit strained at the continued silence.

Russia still hasn't opened the door any further than the crack he was peaking through. "Privyet Amerika." He seems to be eyeing the sunflowers both curiously and suspiciously. "Why are you here?"

"Huh? Well I thought you could use a friend. Everyone left you with the collapse of your last government, right?" Russia seems to grow both angry and depressed hearing that, beginning his chant of 'Kol'. Which goes unnoticed by America. "So I brought you some Sunflowers to cheer your place up and I thought we could hang out."

Russia stops his 'kol'ing and stares at the American. Then he glances down at the flowers in the other's arms.

"You do still like sunflowers right?" America spoke with a hint of worry at having maybe gotten the wrong flowers for the arctic nation.

"Da, I still like them very much." Russia finally opens the door fully and motions for America to enter. He closes the door behind the other before leading him to the kitchen. "We should put them in some water, da?"

"Yeah." America's smile was back full force.

Russia grabs a few vases and begins to fill them with water and sunflowers until all the flowers are settled on the table in his kitchen. The two stare at them for a moment before Russia speaks.

"I will put them around the house later." He turns to the bright American at his side, whose smile is still as broad and cheerful as ever. "Why are you really here Amerika? Your people still do not like me, so I do not see why you are trying to be friends."

America's smile falters a bit as he answers, "Yeah, but it wasn't your fault and... We used to be friends. My people have just forgotten." The American seems to wilt a bit under the Russian's gaze. "Ivan, you were there for me when I was at my lowest and when I needed help you were the only one that even offered it." He looks away from the other's gaze. "Remember when I came over right after the Bolsheviks took over." Russia stiffened at the memory. He had fought the regime change and they had tried to eliminate him. When they realized who he was their torture continued, it was worse than when he had been under the Mongels and Tartars. He remembered that America had come and bandaged his wounds, cared for him, sworn vengeance on the communist regime. So caught up in the memories he almost didn't hear as America continued. "Despite everything that's happened over the last fifty years, I never hated you. I hated the bolsheviks, your communist government, but not you. You're my friend Ivan." His gaze had slowly risen and matched that of Russia and Russia felt his sincerity. Here was someone that despite all he had said and done to him was so ready to forgive him, because it wasn't himself the other blamed but those that controlled him.

Russia watched the other as he slowly grew concerned and his vision seemed to get blurry, odd.

"Ivan? Hey you ok?"

"Da, I am fine."

"But, your crying."

Russia, startled lifted a hand to his face and sure enough there were tears flowing down his cheeks, how had he not noticed. "Da, I am." That was all it took for the larger nation to bow his head and close his eyes at he let loose nearly a century of held back tears. He barely registered as the other stepped closer and wrapped his arms around him, supporting him. When his knees grew weak and he could no longer hold himself up the other gently lowered them both to the floor and held him as he let the tears flow. He felt the other run a hand through his hair and heard him give reassurances that everything was alright. They stayed like that for several minutes before the Russian managed to control himself.

"You do not blame me?" It was both a statement and a question. America simply nods.

"Course not. I mean it wasn't your fault. And eventually my people will realize that."

"Thank you."

"Huh? You don't need to thank me Ivan."

"Da, I do. I am sure that the rest of the world probably still hates me. Even if what I did was due to my government's wishes and not my own. But you are so quick to forgive and overlook past grievances."

America sits in silence, still holding the other, "Well what else am I going to do, you're my friend and always have been."

Russia almost didn't see the slight flush to the other's cheeks, but he did notice it and looked up a the other in surprise. "Amerika?"

"Alfred, you can call me Alfred. I'm not really here as 'America', I'm just here as 'Alfred'."

Russia shifts so he is kneeling more in front of the other, the blush seems to be back on the other's cheeks. "Alfred?" Russia reaches out and gently cups America's cheek. He begins to lean forward, drawing the other toward him with a gentle pressure. America squirms a bit but lets his eyes drift close as the two grow closer together. At first their lips just barely brush then they press lightly together. As both grow bolder the press becomes more forceful and a tongue, neither is sure whose, asks for entrance. The two move closer, pressing not just lips and tongues but bodies against each other. They become a tangle of limbs and body parts as they seek to be even closer. A hand unbuttons a coat, another slides up under a shirt, One tangles into soft blonde hair. Eventually they separate, gasping for breath. They look into the other's eyes, smiling.

America takes notice of their mussed clothes and laughs a bit. "Maybe we should move to your bedroom, or at least a couch."

Russia raises an eyebrow, but is still smiling, a genuine smile. "Da, that sounds like a good idea."

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I intended to let them go all the way but it sort of felt wrong to not end this there. Please review, let me know what you think of my take on the Cold War.


End file.
